I Don't Ask You To Stay
by perfectsmuttyvampire
Summary: Hermione recieves a devestating diagnosis. her story after this. FULL SUMMARY INSIDE
1. Chapter 1

**_TITLE: I Don't Ask You To Stay_**

**_SUMMARY: Hermione receives a devastating diagnosis. She and her family relocate to Scotland, to be close to the specialist hospital where she will receive treatment. Because she insists on continuing to attend school, they transfer her to Hogwarts Academy, where she meets the Weasleys, and Harry Potter. She tells nobody of what she fights, but when she falls in love, she realises she has no other option but to tell Ron exactly why she can't be in a relationship…_**

**_PAIRING: Will be Hermione/Ron_**

**_ALL HUMAN, NO MAGIC._**

**_WARNING: Drama, angst, and I am emphasizing on the life-threatening illness here. It's going to get graphic._**

HPOV

I sigh in relief as the water cascades over my shoulders. Oh, it's been a long day. My shoulders ache from carrying a back-pack of heavy books, my arms ache from swim practice, my legs hurt from the gym session. I lug the band out of my pony-tail and just stand, letting water cascade down me. I smile as I remember swim practice.

_I was late, so I had only minutes to struggle into my costume and get pool-side. The day had been stupidly hot and stifling, and I couldn't wait to hit the pool. I tried hard to shake of the feeling of lethargy, but gave it up, realising the shock of the cool water would do that for me. _

"_Ah, Hermione, how nice of you to join us! In the pool, give me two laps, sprint work, please." the came up to the surface with a gasp after my dive. It felt almost too cold against my hot skin. "Miss Granger, we are waiting!" I stick my tongue out and swim away. I haul myself out and drip next to Coach for a while. "Miss Granger, go and stand over there. You're dripping on my feet. Alright, now, for warm up, I would like a 400 metre individual medley. Don't worry about timing, but don't take all afternoon. _

"_So, how was your weekend?" James asks me as we float peacefully at the end when we're done and waiting for everybody else. _

"_It was very restful. I lay on a beach for two days, it was very nice."_

"_Well, you look lovely." _

"_Flirt," I retort, splashing him. "And yours?"_

"_Depressing. It rained for three days."_

"_Ah yes, I remember the weather forecast." he hits me with his float and I whack him with my pull-buoy. We start a little mini-fight with a floating equipment until Coach breaks it up._

"_You two want to flirt with each other, get out and do it!" he shakes his head and smiles. "Can we have one training session where you two don't flirt?" _

_We walk back to the changing rooms together. _

"_Are you going to the gym?" _

"_Yeah."_

"_Well, I'm not, not today. I've got a tonne of homework to do. I'll see you Friday?" _

"_Yeah, see you."_

James would be, in an ideal world, be my perfect partner. But, in typical style, all the decent men are either gay or taken. Or both, in James' case. I shake my head, and then start soaping myself off. I stand for a long time, simply letting the hot water unknot my muscles and relax me. God, I needed that.

I reach up to turn the shower off, then bring my hand back down to bend behind my head. I start the ritual I repeat every month, without fail. My mum always says to check your breasts, both to me and my brother, who finds this confusing. He's at university, and it's not like I ask him whether or not he still does it. But I do. Every month, I make sure both breasts feel the same as they did the month before. I do one, and then Mum shouts up to me.

"Are you done in the shower yet?"

"Nearly!"

"Call me when I can put the washing machine on!"

"I will!"

"What would you like for dinner? I've got the mince out, so we can have pasta, or chilli, or spaghetti Bolognese…"

"Lasagne, please!" I stick my head back under the spray, and start to examine the other breast.

My fingers connect with a hard lump just behind my nipple. Time seems to stop. The water pounds in my head, getting too loud, too much. I fall to the floor with a thud. The water doesn't stop. It thunders in my head.


	2. Chapter 2

**_It Doesn't Have To Mean That_**

My mother found me, having rushed upstairs after she heard the crash. The door was locked, and I was frozen, almost paralyzed, on the floor. But still , couldn't cry. I wanted to. I was automatically assuming the worst: in that moment, I honestly thought I was going to die. I thought that, at the age of just sixteen, I was going to die. I forced myself to my feet, turned off the water, and I wrapped myself in a towel. I'd opened the door, and my mother had taken one look at my face. Her face had contorted with something I didn't recognize. I feel my face, wondering is it's burned there, what I've just found. It feels expressionless. My lips aren't turned down, nor are they smiling. My brows are straight. My eyes are dry.

"Hermione," she begins, almost tentatively. "Hermione, are you alright, sweetheart? I heard a crash. Did you fall?" Did I fall? I don't remember. I remember being upright one minute, and on the floor the next.

"I suppose I must have done," I say, slowly.

"Hermione, come and sit on the bed with me." She leads me into their room, and sits me down. I don't let go of the towel I've got clutched around me. "Did you hurt yourself? Should I call a doctor? Would you like to see a doctor?"

"I've found a lump," I mumble. I barely even hear it myself. She frowns.

"Sorry, darling, I didn't quite -"

"There's a lump. In my breast. I found a lump."

She cried when she told Dad. I did not cry. I couldn't. For whatever reason, now that I was possibly facing death, I could not cry. I insisted on phoning my brother, telling him myself. He answered almost immediately. He was out, that was clear. A male voice in the background, asking who it was.

"It's my family - some member of it. Hello?"

"Danny? Danny, it's me, it's Hermione."

"Ah, it's my sister. Hello, little doll. How are you?"

"Danny, I've got news."

"Hermione? Are you alright? Are mum and dad OK?"

"Yes, Danny - mum and dad are fine. It's me Danny."

"Hermione, for Gods' sake, talk to me!"

"Is something wrong?" The male in the background asks.

"Danny, I found - there's a - I don't know quite how to say it. You see, in my - in my breast…there's a lump, Danny."

"What?"

"I found a lump in my breast." I whisper the words. I hear him start to sob. "Oh, Danny, don't cry. It might not be…it doesn't have to be…" God, I can't even say it. I can't even put into words what it might be.

"No, Hermione, not you!" He shouts suddenly. "Tell me it isn't true."

"Oh, Danny." What else is there for me to say? I can't tell him what he wants to hear, that everything will be fine, that it isn't…

"I'm coming home. Let me talk to mum."

He was as good as his word. The university gave him time, because of the fact that exams were months and months away, that the school year had only just started. And because his sister might well have… He was home within two days, having driven from Edinburgh University. He was waiting when I got back from the doctors. I had an appointment to see a specialist in London in two days time. He had cuddled me close, and both our parents had disappeared upstairs to give us some time.

"Is it…"

"It's too soon to say. But just going for the appointment…it means…it means it isn't possible to tell that it isn't…that it isn't…you know. I have to go and see a specialist, and they'll examine me, and then there'll be an ultrasound scan. Then they'll probably do a biopsy - and then, then we'll know what it is."

"I don't want you to die. I can't see my baby sister…I can't…I -" He groans and buries his head in his hands.

"Danny, we don't - we aren't - it's not definite yet. Nothing is."

"This is all wrong. I should be comforting you. Why do you have to be so _calm?"_

"I have to be. I can't let it out, because if I do, I'm scared I won't be able to stop."

"Maybe it would be best if you had a little cry - you always used to tell me tears were healing, do you remember?"

"I _can't_ cry, Danny. It's almost like there's something stopping me. The only thing that's keeping me functioning is the fact that I'm not crying. I have to keep going, Danny. I have to keep functioning. I'm too scared to cry."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I feel like, that if I cry, I won't be able to stop. That if I cry, I'll shatter. I don't want to die."

"It'll be…you won't die."

"How can you possibly know that? How can you possibly be able to tell that?"

"Oh, Hermione," he says, sadly, holding me tightly. I cling to him, wondering again why the tears won't come. This would be a good time to cry. But I can't.

**_A/N: OK, Chapter three will go up tomorrow, and it will be longer than these two. let me know what you think of it so far, because i'd be loath to continue it if everybody hates it._**


	3. Chapter 3

**_Blurred Lines_**

The next week or so is something I know I should remember, but can't hold it. It's like a rope, a rope being pulled from the other end, and I am just letting it fall through my fingers. Like sand in an hour-glass, time trickles by, with nothing remarkable to make it any different. Only when I sit in the consultants office do I comprehend for a moment exactly what is happening to me.

I'm sixteen, fo God's sake. Sixteen. And I know before he even opens his mouth that that's it. From here on in, my life will change.

"Granger? Hermione Granger?" The nurse looks around, and zeros in on me and my mother. "The consultant will see you now." Five women stare at us. I wonder if they know which of us Hermione is. The door clicks closed behind me. It sounds like the final drum beat before the execution.

"Ah, Hermione, take a seat. You too, Mrs Granger." I reach out and take my mother's hand. I feel like I'm drifting, like I'm in a little boat in the middle of the ocean, with no hope of reaching land again, with no hope of ever getting back to solid ground. My mother is like my life belt, my one chance to reach port again. I cling to her hand tightly, as tightly as I can, wondering crazily that if I hold her tight enough, I will be alright. "Your biopsy results are back, Miss Granger."

"Just say it, please," I whisper. My voice is cracked and hoarse. When was the last time I had a drink? I don't remember.

"I'm sorry. It was positive. You have advanced breast cancer. You need to start treatment immediately."

It's like a bullet. It embeds itself in my heart. I know it will nestle there until I die, or until I'm cured.

"What are my chances?" It's mechanical. Emotionless. Again, something stops me crying. I set my chin. I'm going to be brave about this. I'm going to stare Death full in the face, I'm going to fight him. If I can't cry, then I will be very controlled, very calm. I will handle it. I will face this. I don't say I'll beat it, but damn, I'll fight it.

"Miss Granger -"

"Just say it. Please."

"Slim. If you don't have the treatment, you won't see Easter. If you do, there is every chance you will recover."

"What does "treatment" involve?" I'd taken the advice of my GP, and not looked it up on the Net, even though I'd badly wanted to. He'd said it would only scare me.

"Chemotherapy, radiotherapy. It is also a possibility we may have to perform a mastectomy. You should prepare yourself. And as it is inadvisable that you wait for treatment of any kind, I wrote to a unit in Scotland. It's just outside Edinburgh. They specialise in young cancer patients. You can claim, the Government would relocate you. If you stay here, it will be nearly a month before you can even begin your treatment, and, frankly, the quicker you begin, the more chance you have of surviving this."

"My son - he is at university there. He has a house. We can go immediately."

"I can telephone the hospital now, they can sort everything out tonight. They can book Hermione in almost immediately."

I push my chair back and leave the room quietly. I can't listen to that conversation. Dad and Danny look at me.

"Daddy, I think you ought go in." He walks past me.

"Is it -"

"Yes. Yes. God." I sink into a chair outside the consultant's office. I put my head in my hands. Now, now the tears flow. Now I cry. Because now, it's real. I can't deny it now. Nothing I can say, do or think will make this not real. Nothing I can say do or think will make this all some hideous nightmare.

I have **cancer**. The word grows inside my head, getting bigger, bigger, glowing red, and I hear laughter in my head, screaming, mocking, cackling laughter, like the word enjoys my acceptance of it. Jesus. What kind of sickness is inside me now? I, I who has never gotten so much as a head cold. Cancer. Christ almighty. I repeat inside my head, the words of the Lords Prayer, seeking comfort in the familiar words. But what would await me in the afterlife? Is there even one? This word, this terror, now it even has me questioning my faith? No. No. I cannot, I will not, I cannot let it take my faith too. It might take my life, and I'm staring Death in the face now. And so, I will not let it have my faith to. I reach out blindly, and my brother grasps my hand.

"Pray with me, Danny?" Through his tears, through mine, we recite the Lords Prayer aloud together. When we both fall silent, I add a plea, not for my life, but for the impact this will have on my family. I plead with God to save my family from the absolute worst of the impact. It's my fight, not theirs. I ask for strength to fight alone. I ask for strength to shield them. I ask for the strength to make this exclusively my fight, not anybody else's.

_Dear James _

_I'm writing this on the road, and I'll post it in Scotland. I'm sorry I never had a chance to tell you in person. I'm moving, me and my family, up to Scotland. There's a reason, but I'll save it for now. I should have called, but I didn't want you to have to hear the last words I say to you be bad news. I'm hoping to take away the worst of the blow by writing it - coward that I am. _

_I have to tell you now - we may never see each other again. We aren't going to Scotland to be closer to Danny, as you may imagine. No, we're off to Scotland because of me. And look - a tear -drop. I promised myself I wouldn't cry. But now I am. Oh, James. How do I put this into words? Is it possible? But I have too, because you of all people, you need to know. I'm going to ask you to tell the club. Break it as gently as possible, please. I'll give you my address in Scotland - but please don't give it to anybody else._

_I've - well. I found a lump. In my breast. It's bad, James. It's really bad. I have advanced aggressive breast cancer. We're going to Scotland so I can start treatment immediately. I've cut my hair off. It's really short. I'm hoping that keeping it very short will mean I don't go completely bald. Not for vanity: but because I don't want my family to have to watch me suffer obviously. It'll be hard enough for them. I'll be going to school here: I'm going for normal. My family don't need to see me be able to do nothing but sit at home, staring at the nothingness, waiting for whatever might happen. _

_Pray for me, please? _

_I love you,_

_H._

I stare out of the window of the service station. Cars drive by on the motorway, speeding along in the summer sun, and I hear the music from some of them, because their windows are down and the music is pounding. I muse on how _free_ they all seem.

"Hermione?" I jerk out of my reverie. "Do you want anything to eat?"

"No thanks, Mum. I'll just have a glass of Diet Coke."

"Are you sure, honey?"

"Positive. I just don't fancy food right now."

The waiter smiles at me when he brings the drinks over.

"I like your hair. It suits you short." I blink. Then I smile.

"Thank you," I murmur. He smiles at me again and then goes back to his post at the counter.

"You know, Spikes, he's right. You do look kinda cute," a boy on the next table says. His mother cuffs him round the head.

"I'm sorry, dear," she says to me. "He forgets it is rude to make personal comments."

"It's fine," I say, blushing. "It's cool."

But all the nice comments can't make me stop feeling self-conscious. I feel like the word "cancer" is tattooed on my forehead. It's like I'm carrying a big bag with a dollar sign on it, wearing a balaclava. I feel like I scream cancer. I don't feel like me, Hermione, anymore.

I feel like cancer.


	4. Chapter 4

**_New_**

Danny's house is quite little. All of a sudden, I've gone from having my own room with plenty of space, to sharing the (much) smaller room with my brother, whilst my parents take the bigger room with the bigger bed. But I don't mind so much, not now. Because when I kneel beside the bed at night, and I stay for a long time, praying for my family and my life, Danny does not interrupt me. He lets me pray, and then he lets me do whatever. If I get into bed and turn away, he knows what I want is to be alone. If I get into bed and lie awake for hours, he'll talk to me softly. If I wake him up when I try so hard to be quiet when I cry in the dead of night, he'll always get out of bed and pray with me, or talk to me, or he'll just stroke my hair and let me cry on his shoulder.

The first chemo session was terrifying. I didn't have a clue what they were going to do. I hadn't dared look it up on the Internet. I was far, far too scared. I'd walked through the door of Outpatients - and very nearly turned around and walked back out. Only the steady pressure of my fathers hand in mine kept me upright and walking. We were directed to wait. A doctor would be out soon. I started shaking after about a minute of waiting.

"I can't do this," I whisper, looking around wildly. What was I looking for? An escape? Perhaps.

"Oh, sweetheart." My father said, helplessly. Oh, but that's the worst. He doesn't know _how_ to comfort me. What do you say to your daughter when she is about to have a treatment that will change her? What do you say to her? A woman sits down next to us suddenly. She's wearing a bright bandana, and a very pretty dress. It kills me that she's bald under that bandana. I could die - I'm worrying about going bald.

"I'm guessing by your expression, honey, that this is your first time?"

"Yes," I whisper, trying to coax volume into my dry throat.

"Well, sweetie, don't you worry. Chemo doesn't mean you have to change. Having high-power drugs injected through a "port" doesn't mean you will stop being you."

"But - I - I'm _afraid_."

"What of?"

"I'm scared it's going to hurt." she glances at me, and kindly directs her gaze to my father.

"I'm Lizzie."

"Hello, Lizzie. I'm Hermione's father, John. Please, is there anything - can you - I don't know what to _say."_ She nods understandingly.

"Hermione, look at me." I look up. My eyes glitter with tears I'm fighting to keep back. "It will be a little achy, nothing more. Besides, you Dad here can go in with you and hold your hand. And you'll maybe feel a little tired for a day or so. But it's nothing to be scared of. OK?" "I don't want to go in there."

"You have to, sweetie. It's for your life now."

In the end, she was right. I gripped Dad's hand, I never let go. It ached, and the dull ache doesn't go away until that night. But it doesn't hurt. I do my best to think about other things.

Like the school I'm starting today. Danny has laid out my new uniform. A skirt. A skirt. I don't really wear skirts all that often. Ah well. Time to get used to it, I suppose.

"So, um, jog my memory, Mums…what's this school called again?"

"Hogwarts Academy."

"Weird name."

"It used to be a big boys boarding school. The pupil's no longer board there and, obviously, it takes girls too."

"So, how am I getting there?"

"Well, we called the school - they'll send the school bus for you every morning. Your mother and I can take you if you'd feel more comfortable -"

"No, Dad, it's cool. I have to get to know them sometime, right? What better than the School Bus?"

I board it nervously. The driver smiles encouragingly at me.

"Sit anywhere, honey. Nobody has any seats reserved." I look around. If I sit at the back, it'll make me look like a bad-girl Attitude. If I sit at the front, I'll look childish. If I sit in the middle - I'll look like the new girl. I sit closer to the front than the back. The last stop picks up a big group. They've all got red hair apart from one boy, who's got raven hair and glasses. The tallest - apparently the oldest - slides in next to a girl who greets him enthusiastically. Oh, she has such a crush. His name is Percy. The identical twins sit beside each other, shoving and each wanting the window seat. Pretty soon they settle down, bending over a box in their laps. Their names are Fred and George, apparently. The only red head female glances around and the steers the remaining two towards me. They sit in front of me, and she smiles at me.

"Hey. You mind if I sit here?"

"No." I go back to staring out the window. I don't want to be rude, but I'm kind of nervous. The happy family thing makes me draw a painful parallel to what life was like before cancer.

"My name's Ginny. That's my brother Ron - and my boyfriend Harry."

"I'm Hermione. Hermione Granger."

"Oh, right, the new girl! McG said there'd be one. Hey, what year?"

"Oh - 12."

"Ron and Harry's year then. You need a tour guide? Lunch date? Escape route?" I laugh despite myself. It's impossible to stay nervous around her. She exudes confidence. I need a friend like her. She strikes me as being the type to never let somebody wallow.

"All three would be nice."

"Harry? Ron?"

"Hi," the dark haired boy says, turning to talk to me. "New kids have to go and see the Headmaster. Do you want us to take you?"

"Can you tell me about the school? Like, are lessons hard? Do you do sport?"

"Lessons are as hard as you make them. Depends if you know your stuff or not. Yes, we do sport. There's football, basketball, tennis, cricket, swimming, rugby - if that's your thing - and we do badminton."

"Harry is an awesome basketball player."

"Ginny, shut up," he mumbles, his ears turning red.

"Really? What position?"

"Centre. Do you play?"

"Not basketball, no. But I swim, I play tennis and I used to play football, in the dim and distant past. Oh my…is that your school?" The building looms above us, huge, old, yet inviting.

"You'll be fine. It's not as scary as it looks."


	5. Chapter 5

**_OK, because this is all human, I had to change the timetable. So:_**

**Potions_: Chemistry (Snape)_**

**Divination_: Religious Education (Trelawney)_**

**Transfiguration_: English (McGonagall)_**

**Astronomy_: Physics (Vector)_**

**Defence_: Mathematics (Moody)_**

**Ancient Runes_: Languages (Davies) [Had to improvise, not sure who teaches Runes]_**

**Quidditch_: Physical Education (Hooch)_**

**Charms_: Geography (Flitwick)_**

**History of Magic_: History (Binns)_**

**Muggle Studies_: Performing Arts (Burbage)_**

**_Got it? Good. Any questions, just ask._**

First Day's

It feels like starting secondary school all over again. All the kids seem bigger than me, and more confident. I hate being new, and because I seem to be the only one, it's worse. There are no other little fish to swim with me with all the big fish. Ginny takes me to see the Deputy Headmistress with Ron and Harry in tow. She then leaves for class, and lets me go in to the Deputy Head alone, whilst Ron and Harry wait outside.

"Ah, now you must be Miss Granger. Hermione, am I correct?"

"Um, yes."

"Now, welcome to Hogwarts. I understand that Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter are currently luring outside my study waiting to be your knight's in shining armour?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Well, here is your timetable. I'm sorry I don't have time to show you around myself, but I'm not going to ask you to go to first period today: the boys can take you around. But first, there is a rather obvious matter we have to discuss."

"I understand that the staff have to know. I understand that that is a necessity. But I don't want any of the students to know, and I don't want pity. What I want is to be as normal as possible."

"Of course. But if you feel ill or anything during a class, you have prior permission to leave. Tell the teacher you have a headache. There's always someone in the medical room. Now, I'm very sorry that this cannot be discussed in great detail, but you will be able to do anything you feel up to. I am extremely busy - but, at the same time, if you do wish to discuss your illness, my door is always open."

I make up my mind before her sentence is finished that I like her. She's _exactly_ what I need. No tip-toeing, no pity, and no special treatment. There is no explanation as to where the Headmaster is. Harry grins at me.

"So, where to?"

"Um, I don't have to go to first period. You're showing me around, I think."

"Awesome! We miss RE." Ron announces, looking pleased. "What do you have second?"

"Chemistry…with…some guy called S. Snape."

"Are you any good at Chemistry?" Harry asks.

"I'm OK, I guess. Why?"

"No reason…um…we'll start with Sports."

Their Sports complex is awesome. It's in the basements, alongside the kitchens and the Chemistry rooms. A mans deep voice rumbles from the classroom. I assume that this is S. Snape. But, back to the Sports complex. They have a pool, a full gym, and indoor basketball pitches, not to mention an indoor tennis court. Everything else is played outside. It started raining at some point. I don't fancy the trudge through it. Especially seeing as I was told to stay away from colds like the plague, because the chemo will lower my immune system. I think this is odd to say the least. Isn't it supposed to being the opposite. Harry glances at his watch.

"We may as well stay here. Chemistry starts in five. By the time we got upstairs, we'd only have to come back again."

Snape glowers down his nose at us when we walk in.

"Ah, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley. Are we going to blow anything up today?"

"No, Professor," Harry says, meeting his eye.

"Go and sit down. You, girl, you come here." The hackles on the back of my neck rise at being called girl. "A new girl. Well, I hope you're at least adequate at Chemistry, girl."

"My name is Hermione, Professor. And my last teacher gave me an A. I have my report here - if you care to read it."

"I have no use for a report from a previous teacher. They are all too often inaccurate. Well, today, we shall be making chlorine gas." I try very hard to stop the smile creeping across my face. We did this last year at my school. "I will allow you to sit beside those two. If you are as good as your previous teacher states, you may even be a good influence on them."

"Is he always so grumpy?" I ask Ron as I sit down. He grins.

"Yes."

"Today, we are making chlorine gas. Be exceedingly careful how you mix it, I don't want any unfortunate…accidents." He transfers his glare to a boy a few rows away from us who trembles visibly.

"That's Neville. He's always having accidents. Snape can't stand him, but he can't kick him off the course."

"Mr Weasley, seeing as what you are whispering to the new girl is clearly much more important that what I am saying, why don't you share it?"

"He was just telling me who is who, Professor," I say, smiling sweetly at him. He rouses all my very worst feelings. I could always gas him. "And I did tell you my name, Professor. It's Hermione. Hermione Granger. Professor McGonagall said I'm already on your register." He glares at me. If looks could accelerate cancer.

"The instructions are on the board. You may begin. We did the introduction yesterday: you should be more than capable." There is an odd look of triumph on his face as he looks at me. Ah, so he thinks the new girl won't be able to cope with the pressure, does he? I get a kit and goggles. I switch on my Bunsen, and pretend to stare helplessly for a moment. The second he turns his back, I begin.

"Mr Weasley, what do you call that? That is not chlorine gas. It may well be highly toxic. Perhaps you switch off your Bunsen Burner. Zero." Ron glowers as he switches off his Burner. There is a small, localized explosion. He bends over mine and sniffs. He scowls and moves on.

Point to me, I think.

**_A/N: Ah, we love Snape really. Hermione is going to be using him as an outlet for all her emotions. This could get veeery interesting. Ron's localized explosion is what happened to my chlorine gas experiment at school. The burn marks are still on the ceiling. Another few of my happenings will be used in this story. PLEASE review!!!!!! I really do like to know what you think!_**


	6. Chapter 6

**_Nutshells_**

_It's strange, how quickly one person's life can change and become something totally different, and yet remain in some way, the same. That's sort of what it's like having cancer. You do have to watch yourself every now and again, during some sport - if I get knocked in the chest, it won't do me any favours. If they hit the port where I have my chemo, it will be extremely painful. But I haven't found the cancer to be the social death sentence I thought it would be. As much as it may feel like it sometimes, I don't have cancer tattooed across my forehead. I've made some really good friends - and they accept me. They don't know about the cancer. I don't need the inevitable pity and way people have of treating you when they know you have an illness that could kill you. They tip-toe around you. They stop saying "Oh, that PE lesson nearly killed me," because they think it's a stupid thing to say around a person who may actually be dying. As odd as it may be, I need those jokes about dying after basketball. In a strange way, laughing about death gives me a little more courage to face him, as I will have to do at some stage in this illness. When he has become a joke, how can I be afraid?_

"She mightn't be in," Harry's voice floats up to my open window. "She wasn't yesterday."

"That was yesterday," Ginny reminds him. "Today is a whole new day." I close my diary. My mother answers Ginny's cheerful knock.

"Hermione!"

"Coming!" I call. I find my socks, and go downstairs. Danny is in the kitchen, chopping onions. Sauce bubbles gently in a pan on the stove.

"If you're going out, little doll, be back for seven. Dinner will be ready." Danny has increased his usage of the pet name he came up with for me when I was a child. It's comforting.

"What is dinner?"

"Lasagne. Hey, would your friends like to come?"

"Yes, do, dears," my mother interjects. "We can actually meet Hermione's friends."

"Ok, that'll be cool." Ginny says. "We won't be too long, we promise. We're just taking Hermione to the beach. She ought to see it, living here and all."

"Ok, then lets go. Bye Mum, Dad, Danny."

"Bye sweetie. Be safe!" I roll my eyes as I close the door. Be safe. "So, the beach?"

"Where were you yesterday? We called, but your Dad said you were out." Harry asks, as we start walking.

"I was out. I was - visiting a relative. Did I miss something important?"

"No, we just wanted to take you to the castle, show you around."

"Well, we can go next Sunday, right?"

"Aren't you free Saturday?

"Not the morning. Will it be an all day thing?"

"No, I reckon the whole afternoon would cut it. When would you be free?" I think about. It would be right after my chemo session. Would I be up for traipsing round a castle? _I have to be_, I decide. I have to appear normal. If every Saturday sees me as unavailable, they'll figure something's up. My appointment finishes at eleven. So, if I say half one, that will give me a bit of time to have lunch and have a rest.

"Half-one?"

"OK. My mum can make us a picnic," Ron proposes. "We could sit in the gardens and have dinner?"

"Yeah, that would be cool." I reflect on this. It'll probably finish me off altogether. But I'll have Sunday to recover. I would be back in school on the Monday, refreshed and ready for anything. If I show obvious signs of tiredness, I could just say Danny and I pulled an all-nighter watching horror movies.

We have a little stone-throwing competition, seeing who can throw a stone the furthest. I decline the offer to go paddling. No way in hell. Harry skims a stone a few times, and Ginny sits with me on the wall when the boys forget we exist and start a mock fight with pieces of driftwood.

"How long have you had short hair, then?" she asks, watching the short curls toss in the breeze.

"About a year. I got gum in it, so we had to cut it, and it was easier what with all the sports I did to have shorted hair. And so I kept it short. Doesn't take so long in the mornings either."

"It suits you, you know. I can't imagine you with long hair. Now me, I would never get away with it short. Wrong face. You're one of those really annoying girls who can wear their hair however the hell they want and they'll still look good."

"Thank you," I say, and we laugh. "Anyway - you and Harry. How long. Tell me all the gossip."

"Two years. Sometimes it feels like two minutes. He's everything I've ever wanted for myself. He makes me laugh, he turns up on my doorstep with presents for no reason, he's romantic, kind, thoughtful - and I can have a real, proper screaming row with him."

"Is he a hologram by any chance?"

"No. Although I wonder about how real he is sometimes." She pauses. "Was there anyone for you - before you came here?"

"Yeah. His name was James, he was gorgeous, kind, thoughtful, he remembered my birthday and brought me a Christmas present every year."

"Sounds amazing."

"And gay. He was very gay." We howl with laughter. "No, there wasn't anyone."

"So you're single?" Her eyes gleam, and then she quickly looks away.

"Ginny, spill!"

"I'm sworn to secrecy. I promised faithfully I wouldn't say a word to you or anyone."

"Oh, you cannot just say that and then just leave it, that is totally unfair! Come on, I promise I won't tell you told!"

"I can't! Quit trying to weasel it from me!"

"Aw, Ginny!" The boys come up to were we're sitting and Harry gives Ginny a quick kiss.

"We thought you might like to know it's quarter to seven. We should be heading back." I survey the wall on the other side, leading to the pavement. Ah. Now, it may well have been easy getting up here. It looks a whole lot harder to get down. The other three are fine. I swing my legs nervously, trying to get up the courage to jump down like they did. But it looks very high suddenly.

"Hermione?" Ginny asks, looking up at me. "You OK?" "It's very high."

"It really isn't that high," she assures me. "Only about your chest height."

"I'll just perch here, don't mind me," I say, looking at the ground, which seems to recede with every second.

"Need a hand?" Ron asks, watching me. I nod, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. I expect him to take my hands and help me jump. Instead he comes forward to stand directly in front of me. He's tall enough that his waist is a level with the wall. "Wrap your legs around my waist and put your arms around me."

"Excuse me?"

"It's either that or a fireman's lift, and I'm guessing you wouldn't like hanging upside down." I survey him.

"You won't drop me?"

"I promise I won't drop you. Honest. I'm stronger than I look." He smiles at me.

"OK, then. Come here." I slip my arms around his neck and wriggle my bum until I'm right on the edge of the wall. I wrap my legs around him. One arm wraps itself securely around my waist, the other supports one leg. I loosen my hold on his neck, making sure he's not touching the port on my chest.

"Ready?"

"I think so." He picks me up, and I tighten my hold a little and close my eyes.

"Ok, unwind your legs. I'll put you down gently, I promise." He lets me down until my feel touch the floor. I stumble a little, not expecting it, and he grabs my waist to steady me. "You OK?"

"Yeah. Thanks." He releases me and we depart for home.

My heart takes five minutes to stop hammering. All I can think of is how warm and strong his hands were on my waist, and how strong he felt when he was holding me so briefly.

But this isn't the time for a relationship, or a crush. I push the voice that whispers that I like him into the back of my mind and slam the door on it. No way. No.

Pt IIDanny plonks a plate of steaming hot lasagne in front of me.

"So did you enjoy your trip to the beach?"

"We did. Hermione got stuck on a wall," Ginny tells him. He laughs.

"Who helped her down?" Ginny looks confused.

"People have had to help me off walls since I was a kid. It's normally Danny. I'm scared of heights." I explain.

"Oh, right. Well, Ron did." Ron goes slightly red and focuses on his food. So do I. I notice Danny's eyes flick from one to other of us. Ginny's do too. Harry is engaged in a discussion with Dad about basketball. Pretty soon, Mum, Ginny and Danny start talking about Doctor Who. I seize the chance whilst nobody is listening to talk to Ron.

"Thanks for helping me down. Most people just laugh at me."

"It's cool. I could see you were panicking."

"I was. I'm really not great with heights. I always feel so silly after - I look at the wall and think, how embarrassing."

"Don't be embarrassed. It's OK to be scared of things. I'm scared of spiders," he confides casually. "Don't ever let anyone make you feel stupid either. It's not your fault." We reach for a slice of garlic bread at the same time. Our hands bump against each other. We apologise at the same time, and each tell the other to go first. I thank him quietly and pick a piece up. My face burns for no reason.

_I know that this isn't a good plan, developing a crush now. He wouldn't want to be saddled with a girl who's suffering with cancer, and there's no way I'd ever let him even if he could ever want me. I would never ask someone to have to suffer that. It's bad enough that the family have to watch me fight this. There's no way I'm going to let Ron suffer. He doesn't have to know. Nobody has to know. I don't want him to have to know that. I won't - can't - tell him._

_**A/N: OK, so when there is a big block of italics, it's Hermione writing in her diary. Unless I states otherwise. OK? Well? Good chapter? PLEASE REVIEW!** _


	7. Chapter 7

Stolen Smiles

_Everything hurt when I woke up this morning. It's almost time for school - and the chemotherapy is taking it's toll. I feel more tired after shorter periods of time, and I'm losing my appetite sometimes. Of course, the awful thing is the relatives. When they ring, they ask me how I am, and when I tell them I'm tired or feeling sick or ill, there is always an uncomfortable silence. That's the worst. They don't know what to say. They can't jut tell me I'll soon be better, because nobody can say that for sure. So they say nothing, because they can't think of what to say. It's why I like being friends with people who don't know I'm sick. Because when I tell them I'm tried or feeling a little sick, they make sympathetic noises, and tell me I shouldn't stay up so late or eat too many sweets. And then they can make me laugh. And it feels good to laugh. It feels really good to laugh. Because sometimes, if I don't laugh, I'll cry. But I'm so tired - and I don't know how much longer I can hide it from them. _

I close my diary when Ginny and all the boys get on the bus. Today, Ginny and Harry sit together, and Ron comes and sits down next to me.

"What's that?" he asks curiously, as I slip the diary back into my bag.

"Hmm? Oh, it's nothing." He drops it. We get off the bus.

"Ah, the joys of double Chem," Ron murmurs in my ear. I laugh softly. "Staring at Snape for two hours, debating about whether we can tip acid over him and get away with it…" I poke him in the ribs, and he tickles me. Ginny, Harry and the twins stare at us.

"Alright, Ronniekins, you can take your hands off Hermione now. We don't need to watch you flirt." One twin says. I narrow my eyes at him.

"Quiet, Freddy," I retort, trying to control the wild blush creeping over my cheeks. "Come on, Ron, Harry, we'll be late for class." The boys follow me, leaving Ginny and the twins to stare after us.

Snape is clearly in a foul mood. Ever since he was forced to give me top marks for the chlorine gas, he's been looking for any excuse to rile me up. And I'm determined not to let him win. We're in groups today, and he pairs me off with Ron. He makes a desperate face at me.

"I have no idea what I'm meant to be doing."

"We're going to need hydrochloric acid and an electrical charge." He plugs the electrical charge in and hands me the acid. I measure some out into a beaker and drop a charger into it. I switch the power on.

"So…what happens now?"

"We wait. We watch it to see if it reacts to the electricity, and if it does, how. I'll go and get a worksheet. Watch the acid. If it bubbles very violently, switch off the electric charge, OK?"

"Cool."

I weave my way through the lab tables to the front. I pick a worksheet up and turn to go back. After that, everything is a little blurry. I slip on something. I land quite heavily. Harry and Ron leap up from their experiments and rush to my side. Ron hauls me to my feet and holds me steady for a minute.

"You OK?" He murmurs in my ear.

"I think so." I rub my hip. "I'll have a bruise tomorrow."

"Miss Granger, as hard as it may be for you to grasp, the floor in this lab is polished to prevent acid damage. Please be more careful about how you walk. I do not want to have to deal with the inevitable paperwork if you fall and cut your head open." Ron drops me like a hot potato. He spins round to glare at Snape's retreating back.

"Dick."

"He's not worth it. I'm not seriously hurt. Leave it." Ron looks down at me.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Positive. Harry, you should go back to Neville. Ron, we have acid to watch."

We trail into English after break. Ron gets Harry to switch places with him. He leans over and whispers in my ear.

"We have McGonagall for this. We're reading _Dracula._ It's quite cool. Read it before?"

"Yes."

"Then you should be fine." Then he sits upright as the teacher comes in.

"Miss Granger, I apologise. I appreciate that you won't have a copy yet. If you could read along with Mr Weasley for today, until you get yourself a copy."

"Yes, Professor."

English passes in a haze. I'm still musing over my hip - which actually hurts quite a lot. I inspect it in the toilets during lunch. Ginny gasps.

"Jesus, Hermione."

"I know," I say, examining it. It's bruised up already. "Impressive, huh?"

"What did you do?"

"Fell over in the science lab. Come on, the boys will be wondering what we're doing."

It's that afternoon when I get restricted in my activities for the first time. We're playing rugby in PE. I don't need to be told how dangerous that would be. I bruise very easily, we've established that - but rugby is a contact sport, and if someone slammed into my chest I'd wind up in a lot of pain. So I sit on the sidelines, watching the other girls. I plead my hip, saying it hurts - just for their benefit. I feel so stupid. I'm itching to get up there and play. Tears of frustration prickle at the back of my eyes, but I fight them back. I'm tired, my hip hurts, and I still want to play rugby. It isn't fair.

_

* * *

_

_A/N: I hope I'm getting how Hermione feels right here. I did research on chemotherapy side effects: and some cancer patients find they bruise more easily during treatment. Please review!!  
I wasn't sure if I was getting anything right with this chapter. I don't feel that it's as good as my other chapters. Somebody tell me what they think? _


	8. Chapter 8

The Castle

_I'm writing this in the hospital, waiting for my next treatment. Later today, I'm going to the castle with Harry, Ginny and Ron. Even though I know that now isn't the time, I still feel a little jump whenever I say or write his name. in a strange way, thinking about him is helping me overcome the tired feeling I seem to have all the time. He doesn't need to see me suffer. Mum isn't happy about me going out after this, but I've managed to persuade her to let me. I worry about how I'm going to cope though. Will I physically be able to walk around? I have to be. _

When they call for me, I'm beginning to doubt my decision. I can barely get up, and I'm out of breath by the time I get to the front door. Danny takes me aside when I come back into the living room to survey me.

"Little doll, are you sure that this is a good idea? You look exhausted."

"Danny, I'll be fine, I promise. I can always come home early." He gives me a hug.

We walk very slowly up the hill to the castle. I have to stop and catch my breath a few times. I fob the others off with the excuse that I'm just not used to hills. But Ginny links up with me whilst the boys stroll ahead carrying the cooler.

"You OK, Hermione? Honestly? You're white as a sheet, you look exhausted and you seem barely able to walk above a crawl."

"Ginny, I'm fine, really. I'm just tired." She doesn't look like she believes me, but she lets it go. But she insists we have a sit down for a while before we go in. I'm grateful for the brief respite. I'm very breathless. Ginny looks alarmed.

"Hermione, are you sure you're OK?" she asks, worry coating her voice.

"I am, truly. I'm apparently shockingly unfit. I'm not used to hills." I get my breath back and get to my feet.

"Come on then. Let's go and explore." Harry and I go in front, Ginny and Ron a little way behind. I overhear them during a break in the conversation Harry is having. I can barely focus on him.

"We'll just take things slowly."

"What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know, but I'm worried Ginny, I'm really worried."

"She'll be fine. She's probably just going down with a bug." But I can hear the worry in her voice. They catch us up, and I smile. What am I trying to do?

They'll have to know soon. I can accept that. I may well lose my hair. And I can't keep pleading exhaustion or starting a bug. Soon they'll have to know. But until then, I'm going to enjoy every second of time with them that isn't blighted by cancer.

Edinburgh Castle, I admit, nearly three hours later, is beautiful. I'm still smiling. But when we lie down on the grass outside the castle to have tea, enjoying the summer heat, I can barely suppress my sigh of relief.

"If we do this again, remind me to wear walking boots," I say, kicking my trainers off and rubbing my feet. "My poor feet." Harry laughs at me, and Ginny seems less concerned. But Ron still looks askance, and I can see in his eyes that he doesn't believe I'm alright. But I eat, even though I can barely keep my eyes open at this point. Ron looks at me when we pack up to go home.

"OK, Hermione, you're getting on my back."

"Beg pardon?"

"You're exhausted. I don't care what you say. You can hardly keep your eyes open. You aren't in any fit state to walk home. So I'm going to carry you. Harry, if you walk Ginny home. Aren't you stopping over tonight?"

"That's the plan."

"Right. Tell mum I'll be home soon. Hermione, on my back. I'm not giving you a choice." I gape up at him. He looks determined. I struggle upright. Harry gives me a boost and I wrap my legs around his waist and loop my arms across his chest. We walk together until the top of my road. Harry and Ginny carry on and Ron hitches me up and walks on.

"You really didn't have to carry me home," I say softly.

"You can barely stand, let alone walk," he points out gently. "You would never have managed to walk here."

"Ron, really. I'm not an invalid."

"I know. But we're nearly at your door now. At least let me carry you up the steps. You looked so tired earlier. Fragile, even. I just wanted to -"

"OK. You can carry me up the steps," I say sleepily. I can barely hear him anymore. Everything sounds like it's coming from far away. I remember Danny answering the door. I remember Ron relinquishing his hold on me and Danny carrying me upstairs. But I don't remember him putting me to bed.

The sunlight hits me full in the face when I wake up the next day. I roll onto my back. I feel like I've been hit by a freight train. I ache. Brutally. I sit up and look at my clock. Twelve thirty. Christ. I glance back down at my pillow. I run my fingers through my hair. More strands flutter down to join the curls that are lying neatly on my pillow. Danny knocks.

"Hermione? Are you decent?" I don't answer him. He inches the door open. "Oh, Hermione," he whispers sadly. "Oh, little doll."

"Is it really bad?" I ask, not looking at anything but the hair on my pillow. "Is it really bad?"

"You should look in the mirror." I close my eyes.

"I don't want to."

"You have to," he says. I can hear from the slight tremor that he's fighting back the tears. "It'll only get harder the longer you wait. Come on. Come into the bathroom." He takes my hands and helps me up. He keeps his arm around me as he helps me to the bathroom. He gets the mirror from the shelf.

"Let me sit down first." I perch on the side of the bath. I close my eyes very tightly.

"Hermione, you have to look. Come on. Just one little look."

I cry silently as I peer at my reflection. I touch my hand to my head, looking at the girl who copies me exactly. I run my fingertips over the bald patches. There's one right on the top of my head. Every time I touch my hair, more falls, fluttering into the bath.

"Can you - Danny, can you just give me a minute? I'm going to have a shower."

The last of my hair falls out when I brush it after the shower. Danny knocks on our bedroom door a few hours later.

"Hermione? Can I come in?"

"Yes." He surveys me for a few seconds.

"I got you a present."

"A present?"

"Yep. Here," he says, holding out a sparkly carrier bag. "Well, actually, I got you a few. They're from Mum and Dad too." I take the bag and peek inside. I tip it into my lap. An assortment of brightly coloured, patterned and decorated bandanas fall into my lap. I sort them out, spreading them across the bed. I try to laugh, but it's more of a hiccupy sob. Danny looks alarmed. "I didn't mean to upset you!"

"You haven't upset me, you idiot," I mumble through my half-tears, half-laughter. I hold up one of the bandanas. "How am I supposed to wear this in polite society?" The bandana has a picture of Achmed the Dead Terrorist on it, emblazoned with 'Silence! I kill you!"

"OK, that one is strictly for the family behind closed doors. But you can wear the rest out, I made sure." I shake my head at him, half-exasperated.

"I'm _bald_, my completely _insane_ big brother brought me bandanas which I may need security clearance to wear outdoors. You're mental."

"Yeah, but what you gonna do? Try one on."

"I don't even know how to put on a bandana."

"I do. Come on, pick one, pick one!"

"Kid at Christmas. That phase ringing any bells? OK, OK, I'll pick one. How about this one?" I hold out a purple bandana with blue clouds. He takes it from me.

"Stand up and turn your back to me." He puts the bandana on my forehead. "Hold that there." I reach up with my right hand, feeling the soft cotton where my hair was. I start to cry again, silently. He ties the knot at the back. "Comfy?" I nod. I peer into the mirror, through tears.

"You still look beautiful to me, little doll," he whispers softly. I take a deep breath. I turn away from the mirror and go downstairs. I pick the phone up. i dial. Ginny answers.

"Ginny?"

"Hermione? Are you feeling better? Ron said you fell asleep on his back yesterday? What's up, is it a bug?"

"No Ginny, it isn't a bug," I say softly. "It's not just a bug."

"Hermione, talk to me, for Gods sake! What's wrong?" Her voice has harshened. She sounds terrified.

"You need to come over. Ron and Harry too. I have something to tell you. I can't say it over the phone. I haven't been honest. I've been lying to you - but I want to explain. Can you come over?"

"We're on our way." I hang up. They need to know. I pray that they'll forgive me for keeping it from them.

* * *

A/N: So. How do you think the guys will react to Hermione's news? Well, that's chapter 8. Please review!


	9. Chapter 9

Lying To You

Danny knocks. Ginny comes in, followed by Ron and Harry. She plonks down on the bed beside me. She takes my hand. I clutch it blindly. Harry looks at me, eyes focusing on my bandana. I look up, seeking Ron's face. He looks like he's in pain.

"Hermione," Ginny says softly. I drag my eyes away from Ron. "You said you had to tell us something."

"I lied to you yesterday. I'm not so unfit I can't make it up a hill without virtually collapsing. I wasn't tired because I pulled an all-nighter. I just - I wanted to be normal."

"What exactly are you trying to say?" Harry asks, confusion evident. "If it isn't a bug, what is it? We're worried about you. Really worried. You were spacing out yesterday. You looked - well, frankly, you looked awful."

"I know." I smile slightly. "I'm sorry I lied. I hope you'll understand."

"Hermione, please, talk to us." Ginny looks genuinely terrified. I take a deep breath. I slide the bandana off my head and unbutton the first few buttons of my shirt to show the port.

"I haven't got a bug," I whisper, a tear sliding gently down my cheeks. "I've got breast cancer. I've been having chemotherapy. That's why we had to move here. And I wanted so badly to have friends who didn't know so I could be normal. I didn't want you to know. You don't have to hang around. I'm sorry I lied to you. I didn't slip in Chem. I had a dizzy moment because of the drugs. I'm sorry I lied." Ginny bursts into tears.

"Oh, Hermione, no!"

"Is that why you cut your hair?"

"My doctor told me I'd have more chance of keeping it if it was shorter - less strain on the roots. I'm sorry."

"Don't," Ron says, his voice harsh. "Don't you _dare_ apologise. I would have done the same." Harry gazes at me.

"Cancer?"

"Advanced and aggressive. If the chemo and the radiotherapy don't beat it, I may have to have - have a - a mastectomy." He nods slowly.

"Would you agree to meet my mother?"

"Why?"

"She had breast cancer a few years back. You might - you could chat." I snort with laughter through my tears.

"Harry, can you do me a favour?" Ron breaks in. "Take Ginny downstairs. I want to talk to Hermione." Ginny gives me a hard hug and then slips away.

I stare up at Ron. I hold out my bandana.

"I don't suppose you know how to put these things back on?" He takes the bandana from me and slips it back on. "Sit down, you plonker." I say thickly, patting the bed beside me.

"How long?"

"About a month. Three more weeks of chemo, then a break, then the radiotherapy. Then - well, then they'll review. I have another test this week, to see if the chemo is having any effect. If it is, they'll carry on. If not - well, what has to be done, has to be done."

"Shit, Hermione," he mumbles. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"Would you honestly have stuck around? I wouldn't have let you stay. I don't ask you to stay now. I don't want you to watch me go through this." I leave the fact that I don't him to watch me die hanging. I might still. If they can't beat it. I may be staring at Death again. He reaches out and takes my hand.

"Tough. I'm not planning on going anywhere. The only thing that's changed now is that I know. It won't make me leave. I won't let you do this alone." I look up at him. What's he saying? He leans back against the wall. He holds his arms out. "Can I hold you?" he asks, not taking his eyes from mine. He wraps me up in his arms and I rest my head on his chest. I feel safe. "I'm not leaving you."

"This isn't going to be easy."

"Then I'll bear it with you. Get used to it - I'm not going to go anywhere." He tilts my face up, letting his eyes meet mine again. "You're more beautiful now than I've ever seen you. You can beat this." His kiss is gentle. His hand on my waist steadies me. He takes my hand. He brushes the tears from my cheeks with gentle touches of his thumbs.

"We'll go as slowly as you need to."


	10. Chapter 10

**_A/N: For fd-hp-Ecluvr who is addicted to this story. Hope everyone likes the chapter!_**

**_RECAP: Hermione and Ron are going to "take it slow" after she told Harry, Ginny and Ron about the cancer._**

**_Ron's POV because I think we have arrived at the point where Ron's thoughts become vital to the story._**

RPOV

I lie awake that night, staring at the ceiling. A million thoughts are screaming in my head. All of them scream her name.

Why her? So brave, so gentle and kind. It isn't fair. I get up. I'm too restless to lie there and sleep. All that is in my mind is her face, tear-stained yet determined, even when telling us the worst news imaginable. I pace the room. I remember the day at the castle, yesterday. Yesterday. She'd just had chemo. I remember when Harry's mum was having it, days when she cried climbing stairs. And she got up, walked around a castle and laughed with us. How much pain had she been in? Why hadn't I noticed? The signs were all there - the breathlessness, the tiredness. And I didn't do anything. I let her walk around that castle, even though she seemed to struggle with every step. I should have insisted she go home.

I want nothing more now than to wrap her in my arms and never again let her go. I remember when she told us we didn't have to hang around. I wanted to cry right then. So brave, in the face of impossible odds, and she didn't want to see us suffer. I think about her bandana, the other bandanas strewn over her bed, the bright tumult of colour against the darkness of cancer. How steady her voice had been, even as she'd cried, when she told us news that made my heart shatter as I stood there and looked at her. How she'd stumbled over telling us the worst case scenario - almost as if she'd been reluctant to tell us. My heart screams.

I sink onto my bed and put my head in my hands. The port on her chest, seeing the point where they pumped her full of drugs, killing her to save her. I can't even comprehend what it must be like. I turn on my laptop. I search for chemotherapy on the internet, research what happens during the treatment, what patients feel like. I couldn't have told anybody what I'd read, but the words on the screen played across my eyelids when I closed them. I stared at the wall. The house was silent, chillingly so. I look at the clock. Half past three. I'm not getting any sleep tonight. I get up, get dressed, slip out the front door and go down to the beach. But on my way I stop outside her window, staring up at it, hoping that she isn't having to lie there awake. Sleep must be her respite. I walk along the beach, staring through the darkness at the waves. Sunrise is already threatening on the horizon. I throw stones for awhile. I write her name in the sand just above the tide line, drawing a circle around it. I leave when the incoming tide washes it away. If only I could wash her cancer away as easily as the sea washed away her name. I stop outside her window again, watching the grey dawn touching her window. I sneak back in and make it back to my room without waking anyone.

I want to wrap her in my arms, stroke her face, kiss her lips, as if doing this would make her well again. I want to protect her from everything and everyone forever. I want nothing more than to take her burden on my own shoulders, to never let her worry about it again. If the devil appeared before me now and offered me the chance to save her by taking cancer for myself by selling my soul, I'd do it. I've never prayed before. But ii pray now. Is that bad of me?

I watch the sun rise. By the time seven o' clock rolls around, I'm done crying. I couldn't possibly cry any more. I don't remember when I started crying. But I didn't stop until my alarm clock sounded, telling me I had to get up, go to school. I got dressed again, changing out of the jeans and sweater I'd worn to the beach, dressing for school. How can the days continue, when my world is already slowing down? How can I carry on going, knowing what she has to carry with her. Then I set my teeth. I have to keep going. She does, every day. And if I'm going to be there for her, then I need to be there for her properly. I go down to breakfast when I always do. Ginny looks pale, but determined. I slip in beside her, and eat a slice of toast to satisfy mum. Ginny squeezes my hand under the table and smiles sadly at me. When the bus pulls up, we are ready and waiting. I scramble on first and look for her with something bordering on desperation. She isn't there. I push back through the throng of Weasleys behind me and set off running. Ginny yells after me, but the bus moves off. I run to her house, and start banging on the door. Her brother answers it. He looks dreadful - like he's been up all night.

"Where is she?" I gasp. I haven't sprinted that fast for a long time. "What's happened?" Hermione's mother appears behind her son.

"You must be Ron. Come inside."

"Is she alright?"

"Sit down, sweetheart," her mother says gently. She sits down next to me and puts one arm around me. "We had to take Hermione to hospital last night. She woke up at around one and she was complaining that she was in pain. She was pointing at her chest. We rang up the hospital to ask what we should do, and they sent an ambulance for her. She's there now, with her father. We came back, because one she'd come round from the sedative they gave her, she asked for you. We were going to drive down to the school and get you. You can come with us now. I'll call your mother and the school." Danny looks at me after his mother is gone.

"Do you love her?"

"Yes."

"If you aren't prepared to stick by her for everything, then leave now," he says, his voice harsh. My head is spinning. "She doesn't need to be pining for you on top of everything."

"I would never hurt her Danny. Never. I'd kill myself before I hurt her. No matter what happens, I won't leave her."

"Good. That's my baby sister, and I mightn't say it, but I love her to bits. Protect her Ron. You can hold her in ways I can't. Keep her safe. Be there for her when she cries. Be there for her when she's in pain and when she's happy. Just be there."

"Always," I promise him.

"did you sleep at all last night?" he asks, sitting down in the armchair.

"No. You?"

"About an hour. Hermione went to bed first, quite early, about half-past nine, I think it was. She was already asleep when I went up at eleven. I read till about twelve, and then I went to sleep. She woke me up at around one, crying. She was trying to be quiet, I could see that. I asked her what was wrong. She said she was in pain. I asked her where this pain was. I thought she meant she had a headache. When she pointed at her chest, I nearly had a heart attack. I sat her up, and she said that felt a bit better. I went in and woke up mum and dad. The she yelled out for us, and we all went in to her. She was holding her chest and she was screaming that it hurt. Mum phoned the hospital, and they sent an ambulance for her. They sedated her here, because it hurt her so much to be moved anywhere. I've never seen her like that. We weren't allowed in the ambulance with her. We've been at the hospital all night."

"Come on, boys," Hermione's mother reappears. Not a word is spoken until we reach the hospital. Danny holds his mothers hand, his face white. She puts her arm around me, giving me a cuddle. A nurse takes us into Hermione. She's wake, sitting up. Her face is very white under the bright red of her bandana, but she stretches her lips into a smile when she sees me. It doesn't reach her eyes. Her family slip away, and I barely notice them.

We look at each other for a long time, the seconds ticking by. Then she pats the bed beside her. I sit down next to her and kiss her forehead gently. She pulls me down so I'm lying beside her. I put my arm around her and she cuddles in and buries her face in my chest.

"I was so scared, Ron," she mumbles. "I thought I was dying, I thought I was going to die."

"Shhh, Hermione, shhh. Don't say that. I'm here." I rub her back gently. I feel her literally relax under my touch. "Does it still hurt?"

"No, not any more. I never wanted you to see me like this."

"I made a promise when I kissed you. When I kissed you, I promised you that I wouldn't leave you, and I'd stay with you no matter what. And I mad e apromise to your brother too. I promised I'd never hurt you."

We lie like that for a long time. We don't talk. I hold her hand and sing softly to her. I don't realise she's fallen asleep until Danny comes back in.

"You are aware you're singing to someone who is sleeping?" he queries in a low voice, a tired but happy smile on his face.

"Is she? No, I didn't know," I murmur. He sits down and stares at her.

"It's the first time I've seen her sleep and look peaceful since she was diagnosed. You must be something special, Ron." I don't say anything. But I tighten my hold on her and kiss her bandana gently. I hold onto her until she wakes up. And when she looks at me with eyes full of peace, I know I'm in this forever.

I'm in love. What more is there, apart from the girl in my arms who looks at me with eyes of cinnamon?


	11. Chapter 11

**_Always for fd-hp-Ecluvr - because without your AMAZING reviews, I would have abandoned this story long ago. Thank you a billion times!!_**

**_All This Anger_**

RPOV

She's off school until the Thursday. But she's on the bus that morning, pale as a sheet, dark circles under eyes and thinner than she was, but she smiles nonetheless when she sees me. Her bandana today reads "Chemical" in green letters on a grey background. She cuddles in close when I sit next to her. I hold onto her firmly. Ginny seizes her when we get off the bus. They hold onto each other for a while. Harry looks at me when we all walk into Assembly together, Hermione and Ginny whispering to each other, arms linked. My heart aches to see how frail and small Hermione looks now beside my sister.

"So, how is she really?"

"Not well, Harry. It's taking it's toll - but she says she's missed enough school. She won't stop. Not until she literally can't. At least she can actually keep food down now."

"Interesting conversation, Potter, Weasley?" Snape hisses at us as we pass him at the door. "You can join Miss Granger and Miss Weasley, in the lab, at break." I wait until we're sitting down next to the girls.

"Slimy git."

We file into the Chem. lab at break. Today is not shaping up to be a good day. A four page essay for McGonagall on symbolism in Dracula, two pages of algebra for Moody. And detention with Snape. Who doesn't bother showing up. We wait until the bell, and then we leave. Hermione napped for most of it.

"You should go home," I whisper during RE. We're having sex education. The poor woman at the front is fluttering her hand nervously at the man she's with. I take the opportunity to tell Hermione off for being here at all. "You know what the doctor said. Go home, go back to bed."

"Ron, really, I'm fine," she says, yawning. She even attempts sitting up when the lecture about Why A Condom Is Cool starts. I lean past Hermione and poke Harry firmly.

"Pay attention to this one, mate," I say. "If you get Ginny pregnant, I will personally encase you in a condom and then bury you." Hermione sniggers happily. Harry blushes beetroot. Trelawney glares at us. We're missing her lesson for this, and she isn't happy. Whilst she's a ditzy twit most of the time, she does get annoyed if they yank us out to do other stuff. She isn't the only teacher in here. Burbage, the drama teacher, has had her lesson interrupted to do this. But all attention is distracted from us when the woman starts talking about erections. Draco Malfoy and his cronies find this very, very amusing. Various catcalls and comments fly around the hall.

And then Draco crosses the line.

"Hey, where's Granger?" He cranes his neck. He meets Hermione's eyes and he smirks. He transfers his gaze to me. "Ah, there you are, Weasel. I was wondering: something about baldy that gives you a hard-on? Can't think why else you'd want to date her - it must be for the sex, I reckon she must be a delicious little whore -" I leap to my feet. Hermione grabs my arm.

"Ron, don't!" I barely hear her.

HermionePOV

His face darkens with rage as he leaps to his feet.

"Ron, don't!" But he shakes me off and charges for Draco with all the speed of a raging bull when faced with a red flag. I turn to Harry to try and get him to get Ron to see sense, but he's going for Draco as well, who seems to realise he's made a massive mistake. Suddenly the front half of the hall irrupts. The fight spreads. Hands of steel are suddenly wrapped around my arms and I get yanked out of my chair and hustled out of the hall. Professor Snape looks down at me for a split second, and then charges into the hall. In less than five seconds, the Hall is deadly silent. I go back in. Ron is nursing a bloody lip, Harry a bleeding cheek. But Draco had a rapidly blooming black eye, both lips spilt, a nose bleed and a bruise forming on his jaw.

"What happened?" Snape demands, his voice harsh. "Weasley. Potter. Why is it always you?"

"It wasn't their fault Professor. Draco said - things, and Ron got upset. Harry just went to help his friend."

"What did Draco say when he said "things", Miss Granger?"

"Please don't make me repeat what he said, Professor."

"Draco called her a whore!" Ron bellows. A big sixth year moves up behind him and physically restrains him.

"Ron, please!" I say, desperately. He looks over at me. "Don't." He wrestles out of the sixth years grip and go over to him. "Enough," I say. I turn to Draco. "I've got cancer, Draco." The entire Hall stares at me. "I'm bald because of the chemo. Ron is with me because he wants to be - I gave him the opportunity to walk away, but he didn't. And let's not talk about hard-ons - people might start questioning your own ability to get it up." He goes scarlet with rage. "Professor Snape, I'm going to take Ron and Harry to the medical room."

"Why'd you do it, anyway?" I ask, watching Ron wince as the nurse dabs antiseptic onto the cut on his lip. Harry has butterfly stitches on his cheek. I glance at him. "Ginny will kill me," I say, regarding him. "I'm supposed to keep an eye on you two."

"He called you a whore."

"I've heard worse. Draco is scum. Just ignore him, he's being immature. Ah, speak of the devil."

"Good Lord," the nurse says. She hustles us out to make way for Draco. He glares at me as he passes. I smile happily.

Mum had heard about the fight. I am fussed over. I say I don't want dinner and slip off to bed early. My phone beeps. It's a text from Ron.

_Hope ur ok. Sorry I upset u bout the fite. Sweet dreams, xxx. _I text him back happily.

_Dnt worry, hun. Miss u already. Sleep well, xxx. Ps, D is a loser! Dnt let him wind u up! Xxx_

_U in 2moro?_

_Yes. Im sure Snape will invent horrid punishment 4 all! C u on the bus, xxx_

_Night night then. Miss u 2. Xxx _

**_A/N: Cute little text conversation, no? really hope you liked it. Please review, give me some lovely constructive criticism!!!! They make updates come faster…_**


	12. Chapter 12

**_Look, I hate re-typing things. So, from here on in, for fd-hp-Ecluvr. It doesn't mean I love you and your reviews any less…it just means I am inherently lazy. BTW, there will be a VOTE at the end of the chapter!! I know, a VOTE. How wonderfully exciting, yes??? Don't skip down to it now, you'll go blind. So, Read, Review and VOTE!!!_**

**_Ahem…anyway…on with the chapter, I think. I've had far too much sugar…_**

HermionePOV

Two weeks pass. Chemotherapy has just been inserted into my routine, when the course finishes, and I face up to my review with the consultant. Ron comes with me. I told Mum and Dad and Danny that I wanted them to come, but that I wanted Ron to be the one who came in with me. I think that they understood why I wanted that - which was a good thing, because I didn't know why I wanted him there so badly.

He holds my hand tightly.

"Ah, Hermione. Take a seat."

"Good afternoon, Doctor. So, what's the diagnosis?" He looks at us both. He sighs. He takes out his file and he sits down.

"We need to start talking options, Hermione."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Good. You have a choice. The majority of my patients must do one or the other. There are all the signs that the chemotherapy is having the desired effect - i.e., it is killing the cancerous cells. But it isn't doing it in a way that indicates radiotherapy will finish the job."

"So my choice is…"

"Either you have the radiotherapy, and then another course of both chemotherapy and radiotherapy - with a chance of success at the end - or we call this now - and you have a mastectomy." Ron grips my hand as I clutch at his. I stare at the consultant.

"Numbers - my chance of being cured after the second course of drugs?"

"Sixty-forty."

"Is there then a chance of the cancer coming back?"

"It's always a risk with breast cancer."

"And if I have a mastectomy?"

"We all but eliminate the possibility. I don't know how radical this mastectomy would be - we will definitely take the breast, but it may be possible to leave you with the nipple and areola. We can perform reconstructive surgery with the same operation, although in someone so young, I don't recommend it. I would advise you to have the operation, and then, after, when the cancer has been treated fully, when you are cleared, then have reconstructive surgery."

"I would still have the radiotherapy, if I had the mastectomy?"

"Yes, but that course would almost certainly cure you completely."

"Can I have some time to think about this?"

"I can give you two more weeks - that would take us to the point where we would begin your radiotherapy. I would need to know by the Wednesday of that week."

"If she has this mastectomy, will you guarantee me that she'll be cured after radiotherapy? Can you give me your medical word?"

"No. I can't give you that. But she has a considerably better chance."

"So from sixty-forty, she would go to…"

"Ninety-ten."

"Thank you. Hermione?" I hear his voice, but I only just register the fact that he's there, holding my hand, getting me to my feet. "We've got to go now. I've got you, sweetheart. I've got you." Sure enough, strong, capable arms are around my waist, so much like that time he lifted me off the wall at the sea front. I take the steps I have to to get to the car. I don't hear Ron telling my family what was said. I don't hear my mother break down, although Ron said she did. I don't remember the drive home. I don't remember Ron staying till I slept, although Danny said he never let go of me, not once. I don't remember my father leaving the house, coming back. I am told it all after, like I am an innocent bystander who happened to ask what our day was like yesterday. I am told of my life like it is no longer my own.

It's not even something I can muster the energy to care about.

**_A/N: After the doom and gloom of this chapter, Hermione will be going back to school. Draco the Snake will be there and on a mission to Piss Her Off. Now, what should Hermione do? Should she  
A) Give him a mean-ass right-hook to the jaw, followed by a swift kick in the nuts?  
B) Cry on Ron's shoulder, who then goes and gives Draco a mean-ass right-hook to the jaw?  
C) Ginny gives him a mean-ass, right-hook to the jaw, followed by Hermione giving him a swift kick in the nuts?  
one way or another, Draco Malfoy is getting a swift, mean-ass right hook to the jaw. OK?_**

**_ANYWAY, please VOTE!!_**


	13. Chapter 13

**_A/N: Voting is closed. Read on to find out which one the readers chose to be Draco's punishment. Slightly lighter chappie. Remember, big block of italics is Hermione's diary! Now, quickety-quick recap of the choices._**

**_A) Give him a mean-ass right-hook to the jaw, followed by a swift kick in the nuts?B) Cry on Ron's shoulder, who then goes and gives Draco a mean-ass right-hook to the jaw?C) Ginny gives him a mean-ass, right-hook to the jaw, followed by Hermione giving him a swift kick in the nuts?_**

**_Read on….and discover._**

Every Decision Ever Made

_Sometimes I feel like everything happens to me at once. Sometimes it feels like the whole world is conspiring against me. I get a happy moment, and then everything I've come to accept as routine blows up in my face. It feels like every decision ever made in the whole world is on my back, and if I add my decision to it, I will shatter. I don't know if I have the strength to deal with this any more. I'm so afraid. I am seventeen years old. I feel ninety. I am seventeen years old, and I have to decide whether or not to have a mastectomy and have that followed with breast reconstruction surgery. I'm terrified._

Ron slips into the seat next to me on the bus and Harry and Ginny plonk down in front of us. I put my diary away and chatter like I have no cares in the world. Although the others look at me oddly, they don't question me. They simply talk of trivial issues. I'm grateful. It stops me thinking. It stops me asking myself what the hell I'm going to do.

I'm even grateful for the superior, smug smirk on Malfoy's face when I come face to face with him that morning for the first time since the fight. At least I'll have other things to think about.

"Morning, Granger."

"What do _you_ want, Malfoy?"

"Now, now, Granger. That is no way to talk to your elders and betters."

"Couple of things, you jumped-up prick. One: I'm three months older than you. Two: you are in no way my better, unless being better at being a complete and utter prick counts - in which case, you could win prizes." Ginny is glowering death rays at Draco, and Ron is being physically restrained by Harry.

"Granger, tell me. What's it like shagging Weasel? Can't actually be any good, never see you smile. Not got the equipment, Weasel? Can't satisfy her?" He smirks dangerously. "Bet I could."

"Ah, Malfoy. You and your ego never cease to amaze me. I wouldn't touch you with a bargepole. I'd probably catch rabies. And I highly doubt you could satisfy me. I hear you kiss like a washing machine and fuck like it's an army exercise. Anything you want to tell us? I mean, we know, but you couldn't just confirm it for us?" A crowd has gathered. Malfoy is now looking like he'd dearly like to hit me. I almost want him to. Beating the shit out of him would give my fists something to do.

"What the hell, Granger?"

"I meant about how you're gay. I mean, you certainly can't fuck girls, apparently you're really awful. What was it written on the wall of the girls bathroom, Ginny?"

"Well, I think it may have been something about size, and something about the ability to get it up, and there may have even been something about shouting someone else's name and a bizarre mission to try anal sex."

"Ah yes, of course. Now, Malfoy, what was it you were saying?" I turn on my heel and walk away.

Chemistry is an interesting lesson. I manage to while away a happy half an hour simply by pulling faces at Malfoy.

"Miss Granger, what are you doing? Mr Malfoy, is there something fascinating about Miss Granger?" Snape puts a stop to it and bids us get out our notebooks - today is theory. I content myself now with passing notes to Ron and Harry, trading comebacks and jokes about blond ferrets. At lunchtime, we congregate in the canteen. Ron sets a glass of orange juice and a chicken salad roll in front of me. The roll in question is about the same size as Mars. It's about three inches thick, and is the size of a saucer.

"Ronald, what the _hell_ is that?" I demand, looking at it warily.

"Vitamins. The doctor told you to have vitamins. So, orange juice - lots of vitamins in that. And Chicken Salad. It has greenery and low-fat mayo and plenty of roast chicken. Vitamins."

"It's the size of a planet."

"It's also good for you. Eat up."

"Yes, Mummy." I eat three-quarters of it and then give it up. OK, so it was a good roll. But it was also a big roll. I drink the juice. "Ron, if I have one more mouthful of that thing, I will vomit. I'll have another drink if that'll make you happy, but I couldn't eat another thing." Just as he puts the second glass of juice in front of me and sits back down, Draco enters and makes straight for us. "Ahh, Malfoy. Can we help you?"

"I wanted to know what it is you see in the Weasel."

"Hmmm, well, lets see. If by Weasel you mean Ron, then quite a bit. He's nice, he's kind, he's romantic, he's considerate - and handsome."

"Don't you want a _real_ man, Granger?"

"I've got one. I also have a big brother."

"I'm not scared of your big brother, Granger."

"You clearly haven't met my brother. Look, I have a date with a chicken roll and a glass of juice - what is it you actually wanted?" His smirk widens. He puts one hand out and strokes my face. Then that hand moves down. All hell breaks loose just as he rests it on my breast.

"Just wanted to feel, Granger. They won't be there much longer." Ginny taps him on the shoulder. Before either of us have time to blink, she's given Draco the best mean-ass, right-hook to the jaw I have ever seen. Draco reels backwards and I put my hands on his shoulders and sidle close to him.

"Never touch me again," I say, smiling sweetly. I bring my knee up like I was taught to in self defence and knee him in the nuts. He groans in pain, grabs himself and ends up on his knees. Ron whistles.

"Blimey, Ginny. Christ, Mione."

"Come on, lets go," I say, breathing heavily. I tread on Draco's fingers on the way out.

"You - you _bitch_!" he howls. I turn back to him.

"Touch me again, Draco, and I will be handing you your balls on a plate - got it? Did Mummy never to teach you not to touch what you can't afford?" Ron removes me from the canteen, followed by Harry - who is laughing so much he's actually wheezing.

"Jeez, Gin, nice punch," I say.

"Bill taught me to do that."

"Who's Bill?"

"Oh God, you haven't met Bill! You are coming round for lunch on Sunday - you will meet my other two brothers, Bill ad Charlie."

"How many of you are there?"

"Seven of us kids and Mum and Dad. You've met everyone except Bill, Charlie and the 'rents. Seriously, come round. We could have a sleep-over!"

"OK, I'll come round."

Ron kisses me before I get off the bus that night.

"Miss you already."

"See you," I say, an odd feeling in my heart. I realise it's longing. I want him to just hold me. I just want him. "Love you."

"Love you."

_To realise I'm longing for him is a shock to the system. But I have the sense to know that beginning a relationship of a sexual nature wouldn't be advisable now. We have time - please God, we have time. _

**_A/N: OK, this is the last chapter for two whole weeks. i'm off to ATC camp saturday, so i won't have time tomorrow to write another one. then, the day after i get back from camp, i go off to Scotland for a week to visit my family. PLEASE REVEIW!!!!!!_**


	14. Chapter 14

**_A/N: OK, so it's been a tad longer than two weeks. I exchanged my plane ticket home so I could spend an extra day with my family. So, here it is, chapter fourteen…with Molly, Arthur, Bill and Charlie being introduced. Hermione has a week left to make her decision about the mastectomy._**

**_By the way, this story is in Hermione's POV unless I say otherwise._**

Sunday Lunch

_Sunday lunch is such a family thing to do - and I realised today that we haven't had a proper, roast Sunday lunch in my family since the diagnosis. Is this what happens in all family when cancer becomes a member? All the usual family stuff you got used to changes completely and a dark shadow seems to dog you every moment. Suddenly, the happy family has no place with you. It's like my illness has completely taken over. I'm looking forward to today, but I'm wary at the same time - I can't stand sympathy, and I know it's bound to happen. It's a natural reaction to the word cancer, but I hate it. It's bad enough. People constantly saying they're sorry - sorry isn't going to cure me, sorry isn't going to stop me having to make the biggest decision of my life. Sorry won't help me win. I don't want it, because it doesn't help. I need them to act like nothing is wrong, to not tiptoe round me like I might drop dead at any moment. _

_Besides, sympathy makes me think about dying, and then I cry. I can't cry any more. I feel like there's nothing left in me to give to crying. I'm too drained, too afraid. Afraid of the decision I know I must make, afraid of the treatment, afraid of the reactions, afraid of the surgery that would follow. Afraid of death. I can't imagine dying, and that's why it scares me so much. How can I imagine my thoughts, my feelings even my life, how can I imagine all that just stopping, coming to an end? Is there anything beyond death, beyond the end? For the first time since my diagnosis, I find myself questioning my faith. The faith that I have relied on right through treatment now seems shaky and shallow. I doubt that there is a paradise waiting for me. I can only see the endless end. I'm scared of not knowing about what comes after death. And it's lead me to question everything I was believed in. _

I call Ron an hour before I'm due at his house.

"Ron?"

"Hey, sweetheart! You're still coming right?"

"Yes, of course. I just wanted to ask you something - a favour really."

"Anything."

"Can you ask your family not to do sympathy? If they tell me they're sorry, I'll cry, I know I will. I know I sound ungrateful - I know people mean well, but I just -"

"Mione, breathe. Of course I'll ask them. Don't worry. It'll be fine. Bill is going to drive round and pick you up, OK?"

"I can walk -"

"No way in hell. It's getting too cold. Your brother would kill me if I let you walk." He has a point. It's already hovering just above zero here, in mid-November. "Bill will be there in half an hour. We thought maybe you should get here a little earlier?"

"Yes, that's fine. Do I have to dress up?"

"No, just wear whatever. Jeans will be cool. Bring a sweater, although you won't want it here - so wear a light top."

"OK. I'll go and get dressed. See you soon."

"Looking forward to it."

"Me too. Bye."

"Bye, sweetheart."

A bright and cheery knock at the door pulls me out of my reverie. I wait calmly for Mum to shout up. But she doesn't - instead Danny races into the room. He's got the biggest grin on his face.

"What?" I demand, smiling too. "I was under the impression the doorbell had rung, not Christmas come early."

"Hermione! It's Ron's brother Bill! He looks like an effing rock star! He's got long hair in a ponytail, an earring with a claw attached to it and he's only frigging Bill Weasley!"

"Yes, that happens…his name is Bill, he is Ron's brother…Bill Weasley."

"Hermione!! THE Bill Weasley!" I look blankly at him. Danny grabs a CD from the pile by his bed. He thrusts it up my nose. "THE Bill Weasley, as in the LEAD SINGER of the rock band "Wizardry"! That band I like!"

"_What_?" I gape at him.

"Hermione! Bill's here to take you to Ron's!" I have to get up, go downstairs. I leave Danny staring awestruck at the CD case, unable to come to terms with the fact that a real-life rock star was just in the room. I recognize him myself when I get downstairs. Not as rocker-Bill, but as B - the ballad star with the voice that never fails to break my mother's heart. Mine too, come to that. I also recognize him as Ron's brother. Apart from the hair and the earring and the fact that he's slightly taller and a touch more muscular, he looks almost exactly like Ron.

"Hi, Hermione. It's good to finally meet the girl who Ron never stops talking about." I blush scarlet - I can feel it.

"Good to meet you too. Shall we head off?"

"Certainly. Lovely to meet you, Mrs Granger."

"Bye. Have fun, Hermione." She gives me a hug and a kiss. And I get into a car with quite possibly the most famous, successful face in music.

We drive for about a minute in silence.

"Loving the bandana, Hermione," he says, quietly. I've got my bright red one on, red with yellow edging. It puts a little colour back into my cheeks. "Good colour on you," he continues, as if we're talking about my top or something. It isn't a very long drive, and their street turn-off is coming up. Plus, Bill drives like a maniac.

"Thanks. I was going to wear one with sheep on it, but it's in the wash."

"I used to have a thing about sheep when I was a kid." Suddenly his eyes narrow, and he swears. "Fuck. Hermione, I'm so, so sorry about this." I look for there house. There's a mass of camera lenses trained on the car. "Just keep your head down and try and ignore them."

"Is my face going to in the paper, under the headlines of speculation?"

"Probably. I can take you home -"

"Bill, just relax. I will be finding the pavement very interesting."

"I'm sorry." He opens the car door, comes round, lets me out, and I keep my eyes very firmly on the ground, ignoring the bright flashes and shouts. I'm red as my bandana when we make it to the door. Somebody grabs me and hauls me inside, And then I'm in Ron's arms. I cling to him until my breathing steadies.

"Bill," I say, lifting my head from Ron's chest, "I don't know how you do it. That was _awful."_

"You OK?" Ron asks.

"Yeah."

"Come on - you have to meet the family."

So he takes me by the hand and drags me through to the living room, where the entire collection of Weasleys, plus Harry and his parents, are present. Harry's mother gives me a huge hug, and I look at her, knowing she's survived what I have, knowing that she's living proof that this can be beaten. Ron's mother announces that I am "just beautiful!" and I go scarlet again. Ron's father waves from behind his newspaper, and tells me he's very glad to meet the girl who has made his son so happy. It's Ron's turn to blush. Harry's father smiles and declares that I seem embarrassed enough, so it's good to meet me. Bill, I already have met. Molly - she insists I call her Molly, right from the start - calls down Ron's other brother, Charlie. There's two seconds of silence. Then a clatter, a thump and footsteps coming towards the living room. A shorter, muscled version of Percy appears in the doorway.

"Charlie?" I gape. He blinks, whoops and rushes at me. He scoops me up and spins me round.

"Mione!"

"So you two have met?"

"Charlie," I explain, "was my brothers room-mate during their first year at university. He spent a week with us last summer holidays."

"Danny and I are best mates. He told me his sister was ill, but I never made the connection, even when Ron kept talking about Hermione."

"And I never knew your surname," I realise. "I never even thought to ask."

"I should have recognized you from Ron's descriptions of you straight off. Danny always had a photo of you on top of Mount Snowdon on his bedside table. I should have realized!"

When we settle down to dinner, I already feel like part of the family. I already feel welcome. Molly tells me to bring my parents and Danny next time, and I'm instantly pleased that there will be a next time. Harry's mother sits me next to her on the sofa afterwards, and she holds my hand and whispers to me that I'm brave, and that she knows I'll make the right decision. She tells me she had a mastectomy, and that if it will save me, then I must do it. She'll support me. And she whispers conspiratorially that hospital food sucks, so I must be more brave to face that than to have the operation. She hugs me tight, tells me to visit soon, tells me to call her at any point if I ever get scared and I need to talk. She tells me that I can beat this.

For the first time, honestly and truly, looking into the eyes of Lily Potter, the woman who has fought it and won, I feel true hope. And I know then that I'll be having the operation. I have hope. And hope feels wonderful.


	15. Chapter 15

Decisions And Chocolate Cake

_Judgement day. That's what all this feels like, this morning, with the scarlet sky and frost glowing red under the dawn light. It seems appropriate. It looks like a giant has opened up an enormous vial of blood and spilt it, staining sea, sky and ground with red. It's Wednesday. It's decision day. And even though I've made it, the thoughts, the doubts, the terror are all thundering around my head like an express train. I feel like I'm getting in a car to go and meet death, and do battle with him, instead of going to see my consultant and telling him I have made the right decision - the one which actually, ironically, might well save my life. But I still feel like I'm going to spontaneously combust at any point. I'm scared, and at the same time I'm resigned. I'm ready for this - up to the point where I know I will have to say the words. _

I close my diary and get out of the car. The hospital looks oddly reassuring, a nurse and a doctor talking as they walk through the doors together, another nurse pushing an old man in a wheelchair. My mother squeezes my hand, Danny latches an arm securely around my waist. Ron is standing with my father, talking in a low tone. My father glances at me, and Ron gestures as he keeps talking. My father answers him, making motions with his hands as if he's asking a question.

"Are you two coming?" My mother asks, looking back at them.

"We will," Dad answers, looking at us. "We'll meet you inside. I need to talk to Ron."

"You won't miss it, will you, Daddy?" I ask. "Both of you, I want you both there."

"We will be, Mione, I promise," Ron says.

RPOV

I watch her walk inside. She seems so tiny next to Danny and her mum, so thin and fragile.

"You aren't going to leave her, are you?"

"No way. The only way I would leave her is if I was forced to - and even then, I'd try and find my way back."

"Ronald, I won't get angry, but I need you to answer my next question truthfully."

"I will."

"Are you with her just because you're afraid she'll crumble if you leave? Are you with her out of pity, or sympathy? Are you with her for the sake of her?"

"I'm with her because I love her. I feel sorry for her, of course I do. Nobody should have to do what she's doing today, and she's going through it at the age of seventeen. Of course I'm scared she'd suffer if I left - but it isn't why I've stayed." He looks at me. I see his son, in a few years time. And he's got Hermione's eyes. The colour of cinnamon.

"Good. Well, she wants us there, and I guess we'd better."

She's scared. She clings to my hand like a drowning man would cling to a life-belt. the consultant calls her name, she kisses me, leaves me behind. Danny stays with me. She holds her fathers hand now.

HPOV

"I need your decision, Hermione."

"Yes. I'll have the operation. But I want to ask you something first."

"Yes? Anything I can help you with -"

"Is there any chance, with this operation, that the cancer will come back?"

"Yes. This isn't a fail-safe way of preventing cancer. You'll still have a risk to the other breast."

"Then I want you to take both breasts. Full mastectomy."

"Hermione, this is not something I'd advise -"

"Doctor, you have said it yourself, there is risk that this cancer will come back."

"A risk yes, but -"

"But, nothing. If this comes back, doctor, I won't have the strength to fight it. I won't survive another bout. I want you to take both breasts. I'll think about reconstructive surgery later."

RPOV

When she tells me the decision she made in there, I cried. She'd stroked my hair, soothed me. I couldn't believe it. She seemed so determined and so unbelievably brave. She'll go into hospital this Saturday. She'll have the operation on Sunday. I take her down to the beach, and we lie on the sand together, her wearing my sweater, her hands in mine.

"How can you not be afraid?"

"I am. I'm terrified."

"Then, why?"

"Because I'm by far and away more scared of death."

A/N: Make what you will of that last sentence. Sorry this has taken such ages. Writer's block. Badly. As a result, I know this chapter is not up to my usual standard. Please forgive me. Reviews! I do love them, honest I do.  
This is nearly over, this story. It's been an emotional rollercoaster, and i hope you people have liked it. Few more chapters to go yet, though!


	16. Chapter 16

_**A/N: Right. My last chapter was emotional. I also said, in the Author's Note, that there were a few more chapters to go. I have just written the end of the story, and I'm typing it. There's only TWO chapters left: this one, and then one more. And no, no matter how hard you beg, I'm not telling you how it's going to end.**_

SET SIX MONTHS AFTER EVERYTHING

RPOV

She went into hospital on the 15th of November. She had the operation on the 16th. It was the worst period of time ever. Waiting. The waiting. Her brother, her mother, father. And me. Desperate for any news, anything at all. Charlie rang, several times, so did Ginny. Harry came by, with his mother. I think it helped Jean to see her, to see that Hermione still had every chance. Lily never actually left after that. She stayed too, making us all go home and get some rest. Hermione would be out for a day or so, because of the shock. They'd keep her sedated for a while. She made us eat, sleep, wash. Made us all function. She made me drop by school, to pick up my notes. When she said it was what Hermione would have wanted, I heard her voice in my head, as clearly as if she'd been standing next to me.

"Make sure you study, Ron. Never you mind me. Planning for the future, that's what you need to think about."

I took advantage of the sedation to go down to the beach. That day she'd first shown any of us even a smudge of weakness - her crippling fear of being on walls, unable to reach the floor. The day I'd come here alone and written her name in the sand. Her wrapped up, walking along the prom with me, holding my hand, nicking my chips. All the stuff we've done. All the stuff I mightn't get to do with her.

"I'm scared of death."

I held her hand, for hours, waiting for her to wake up. I told her stories about life, about Harry and Ginny. And then I told she'd best wake up, because Chem. wasn't the same without her scoring points off Snape. The school had sent balloons. I sit by, chattering about random happenings.

"Mione, you need to wake up soon. All the helium from your balloons will go, they'll be boring balloons then. You've got so many cards. It's very pink in here. You need to wake up to tell them you don't like pink. Bill sends his love. So does Charlie. Even Percy hauled himself away from his Chemistry A-level experiment to say he wishes you well. You made quite an impact there.

"Mum's knitted you a sweater. You're part of the family now, Mione. Dad made you a wooden duck - remember I told you he wood-carved? He's here now - actually that duck is seriously creepy. I'll turn it round, shall I?

"And there's another bit of news, too. Your old school sent the scariest cuddly bunny I have ever seen in my life. It's blue, for goodness sake, with a cowboy hat on. His ears poke out through the top of the hat. Huge eyes. Seriously what is this thing? It came with a card, saying 'my name is Whippet'. what is he, the school mascot? And, Gryffindor house sent you two cuddly toys. A lion, and a wolf. I prefer the wolf, to be fair, the lion looks like he's a bit drugged. And very placid. I thought lions were meant to be fierce. And the wolf is pretty amazing, I will say that. Bit smiley, though. What is it with hospitals and cuddly toys? It's like fluffy heaven in here.

"I've been doing my homework too, you'll be pleased to hear. My French is not going well. Listen: 'Translate; Malheureusement, votre vélo a été volé.' I've got: "Sadly, your bike has been abducted.' I mean, that can't actually be right -"

"Stolen. Not abducted, stolen."

"Oh, cheers. Honestly I don't know - HERMIONE!" Cinnamon eyes are looking at me. I seize her face in my hands, and she smiles.

"Hello."

**_a/n: Do you all hate me lots now? I abandon this for months and then I give you the biggest cliffie in history. I swear, the next and FINAL chapter is coming up. PLEASE review, even though I certainly don't deserve it. Anyway, i tried very, very hard on this chapter. The next one will be looong. Also, because I am like this, it does leave it wide open for a sequal. not saying I'll write one, but the possibilty will be there. i do hope you like this chapter, and the final chapter. Not too sure when I'll have it up by, but it will definatly be by the end of the weekend. I'm back at college now, and I have less and less time to write. Rememebr I love you though! XXX_**


	17. Chapter 17

RPOV

She spent nearly a month in hospital, fighting back from the absolute brink. She had a cardiac arrest the same day she woke up - something to do with a clot. That meant another three days under medication, waiting for her body to rest and do the healing. I thought that day, I'd lose her. I would have fallen to bits if Danny hadn't told me that I wouldn't help anyone by doing that. If I wanted to go, I had to wait until she got better. It was odd - but none of us even discussed any funeral plans. Not even when we were watching them battle with machines and oxygen, trying to keep her heart beating. Danny was the one who told us that she was going to live. He kept saying, remained adamant she'd survive. His little doll could fight anything. And hell, she could not only fight this, but win too. I think he was terrified of falling apart. He kept himself going by remaining optimistic. I kept going by praying, every day, praying to whoever or whatever is up there, watching us, I prayed. She didn't deserve to die. She had to live, she had so much to do. She said she wanted to be a doctor. She said she wanted to bring life, was absolutely determined to go to medical school.

Of course, when she came round, within days, she was bored of being in bed, bored of hospital rooms. She wasn't allowed, under any circumstances, to leave yet. Her immune system would have been wrecked. They'd started her on the radiotherapy. She could have died if she'd caught a cold. We all had to visit wearing weird gowns and masks. She laughed so hard when she saw us all trooping in. It made her cough, then she fell asleep five minutes later. It wasn't my Mione. Not my Mione, who'd gone out an hour after chemo, and then walked round a castle with us. I asked her doctor how much pain she'd have been in. He said lots. He said he couldn't even begin to imagine how much. He was amazed she'd managed it at all.

When they finished all that hell, all those chemicals, and she started getting stronger, she'd been in hospital for nine whole weeks. She'd missed Christmas, and spring was tentatively peeking out. I remember the daffodils and crocuses were emerging outside her window. And the daisies were starting to show up again. It was March. She was thin, thinner than before, but she still found the energy from somewhere to talk every day. Her hair started growing back. I was terrified lest it should be any other colour than those gorgeous curls I'd loved playing with. It was lighter shade of her original brown, more along the lines of honey-brown than chocolate, but she was just as beautiful. It was already showing a tendency to form little ringlets.

She prayed every single morning, and every single night. She told me she'd nearly lost her faith during the long, dark, cold months, when she thought she'd die, when she thought she wasn't going to win. Sometimes she'd ask someone to sit with her and pray, sometimes she liked to be alone. Sometimes she'd kick me out, make me do my homework. But more often, she'd hold my hand. She wouldn't talk, just hold my hand. Sometimes, during those long silences, she'd fall asleep in my arms, and I wouldn't know it until a nurse came in and told me, or until someone else would warn me not to get up too fast. Harry and Ginny come by, and Bill drags himself in. That was the day she was good to get up and potter about, going for little walks with anyone who happened to be around. They moved her onto the ward and she made instant friends. The nurses loved her, the doctors despaired because she wanted to get up and do more than she could. But Bill came and swept her up, bridal style.

"I got permission from your doctor to sweep you off your feet," he declares, giving her a kiss on the cheek, with she returns with a giggle and a blush. "Wrap up warm, Mione. We're going on a little trip."

I knew what he was doing, we all did. Day out. She didn't have a clue, and he swept her up and carried her to his car.

"Bill, where're we going?"

"Day out, sweets. We're going shopping."

"Bill, I can't - I'm not so good with walking right now."

"Wheelchairs. Or I could carry you." She shakes her head.

"I'll stick with the chair, thanks. Is Ginny coming?"

"Yep, she's meeting us there. You two can spend a ridiculous amount of money while Ron and I go take care of a few things."

HPOV

That girlie day out was exactly what I needed. Ginny and me going a little mad, buying stuff we didn't need but just had to buy. We both fell simultaneously in love with the same long-sleeved tunic top - her in bottle green, me in a deep burgundy shade. Of course, we have to buy it, and then we buy some jeans, and then she moves onto shoes. She gets a pair of killer heels, red with gold detail. I decline. Me, heels. No way in hell. But she coaxes me into buying silver shoes. When I'm going to wear them I will never know. When we meet the boys again, we're happy enough, even though I'm exhausted. We have lots of bags, mostly on my lap, a few hanging from the handles of my chair, which Ginny is pushing. They laugh and shake their heads. I was so happy. Ron took over my wheel-chair from Ginny and pushed me into a café, and Bill insisted on buying me soup and a roll, along with hot chocolate. Hot chocolate. I'd forgotten how good it tasted. The soup was hot and the roll fresh and warm, and it warmed to my core. I was sleepy now, the excitement and the hot food making me long for bed, to curl up and sleep. They bore me back to my bed, and I fell asleep almost immediately.

A week later, they discharged me, making an appointment with the consultant in a fortnight's time. Two weeks later, Ron took me back to the beach, and sat me down. It was a sunny day, bright and clear. The wind had a little bite to it, but all in all, it was pleasantly warm. April was almost over. Easter was done with. Summer was around the corner, and I realised what that meant.

"It's been less than a year since I found the lump," I say to Ron, matter of factly. "It was September. Such a lovely day it was."

"It seems longer."

"I feel old," I say, looking at the waves. "I don't feel seventeen. I feel like I'm in my fifties, like I've lived my entire life in a year. No wonder Lily was always so furious about her cancer, it makes you feel old. And yet, in a way, I have something to be thankful for, out of this mess."

"What?"

"I got you, didn't I? I got cancer, but I also found you. I feel like I've aged a life time in a year - but at the same time, I found you, and I've found a life. Everything seems brighter now. Colours seem more beautiful, the wind feels better on my face. The sun feels warmer, the rain feels wetter, the grass seems softer. I think I do have something to be grateful for."

"You're always positive."

"I have to be. That's what got me through it all. I had to believe I could win. I had to believe I had the balls to look Death in the face, and tell him to take a hike, I wasn't ready yet. I was ready to go under when you told me you'd stay." I am silent for a time, watching the waves roll up the beach, making a soft rustle over the sand. "Why did you stay?"

"Because it was you, and I love you," he says, very calmly. "And I've never been so great at doing what I'm told." I laugh, and pause.

"No, that's true. Do you mean it?"

"Every word. Especially the bit about loving you."

"Good. Because now I can say that when I got cancer, I found the rest of my life."

"What's that look like then?"

"He has red hair, and blue eyes."

He took me to prom. He danced with me like I'd break into little pieces if he was anything but gentle.

_Five months later, when September had come again, I was quieter. It was the month after we started our final year at school, and university was fast becoming a reality, instead of a distant dream. We never left Scotland, in the end. We didn't want to. I had Ron, and Mum and Dad had jobs and new friends. Danny had Charlie as his best mate, and he and Bill were fast becoming firm friends. And only I knew about the girl in his Philosophy seminars, who he was flirting with. I already felt like I'd known Ginny forever. The leaves are turning red, around the edges. Autumn has come, and winter sets in quickly here. But I don't feel sad. No, this year, I feel alive. Somehow, as this year dies, I feel more alive than I ever have before. It's odd, but this year feels like a brand new start to life. When I came here last year, I was so wrapped up in myself, so preoccupied by death, I didn't leave time to actually live. I wasn't actually alive. I have spent the last year somehow dead, and now I feel like this is the time to make that up. But as I sit here, writing this, I look at the leaves, and I don't think about the death of the year. I feel like this is when the year truly begins, when life starts all over. The start of school always feels more like new than January, and September somehow seems right. A year ago, I was diagnosed, and this year, I've come back to life. I think September will never stop being significant. And this year, I know it will be better._

As I close my diary, I look at it. I've filled up every page now. There's no more room left. I never kept a diary until the diagnosis. And now it's defiantly over, now I've been given the definite all clear, this would be a good time to lock it away. That's it now. The diary was the escape I needed, and now it is the closure. Not even Ron has been allowed to look at it. So I will lock it away, and I will think of it every day, locked safely in my desk drawer. I will think of this past year, and I will remember how lucky I am. I will remember that life is precious.

I will remember, every time I feel the wind on my face, that it means I am alive. And as my mother calls up to me, and I go out, she cuddles me close. Ron is leaning against the open door of the school bus, and I run up the steps, and we wave goodbye to my mother.

Yes. I am alive. And it feels so good.

_**A/N: I swear I didn't know how long it had been since I updated this. I'm so sorry. PLEASE review me anyway, even though I don't deserve it. This is finished now. I will maybe write a sequel, but I don't know. I doubt it. Does seem to be this thing, especially with Potter fics, that they don't get many reviews! Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but reviews make me happy. Well, thanks for sticking by me! **_


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